


the pros and cons of breathing

by lesbianpatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Crack, Crack Fic, M/M, Robot, Robot AU, Steampunk witch???, Witch - Freeform, definitely crack., i need to stop, idek, stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianpatrick/pseuds/lesbianpatrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But no matter what it looks like, Patrick is still very aware that his internal organs seem to have been replaced with wires and a motor. </p><p>There is, he concludes, only one explanation for this. </p><p>Somehow, he is a <em>robot.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	the pros and cons of breathing

**Author's Note:**

> I DONT EVEN KNOW ANYMORE JUST END THIS
> 
> I just had this idea and just. Wrote it. 
> 
> I may write some more things for this bc I do kind of like it, even though it's one of the weirdest yet. (You thought Conspiracy at the Museum was weird? Oh boy. Oh. Boy.)
> 
> So...enjoy!

Patrick has seen some weird-looking fans in all his years with this band, but he has to admit that the steampunk-dressed girl cocking her hips and smoking a cigar is probably the weirdest yet. But really: imagine the first thing that comes to mind when you think "steampunk", and that's this girl. 

He kind of ignores the fact that she seems to be following the band as they head back to the bus from the restaurant they had dinner at. It's probably not a problem. 

Until it is. 

Suddenly the girl is right behind him, and she pokes the back of his neck with something, which hurts a lot, and when he spins around to yell at her, she's already running away, knee-length skirt bouncing with her fluid movements. 

"The fuck was that?" Pete asks, looking angrily back at the girl's fleeing form. 

Patrick shrugs. "Probably just some weird fan. There's a lot of them."

"Yeah, remember the girl with the illegal liquor?" Joe asks, then launches into a somewhat-modified retelling of that story. 

Andy and Pete laugh along with the story and Patrick forces a smile, even though the area around whatever he'd been poked with stung like hell. 

But it didn't matter. 

It was probably nothing. 

~*~

Patrick wakes up feeling weird and... _hollow_. Is that a good word for it? Yes, he decides, it is. 

He rolls into his back, because he'd been sleeping on his stomach again. He still feels a vague ache around the area where he'd been poked the previous night, but it's nothing, really. The girl was probably just crazy, yeah. 

He moves his hand to splay it across his stomach, relaxing back into bed. He can get away with resting a bit more. 

He's content...until he looks down at his hand on his chest and notices what seem to be hairline fractures in a weird rectangular shape on his stomach. That's...strange. Frowning, he pokes at that area. 

And it _opens._

Patrick manages to hold in a scream that he really wants to let out because part of his stomach has just _unhinged_ , oh god, and it's revealed _wiring_ and what appears to be a _motor._

"Okay, fuck." Patrick whispers, because he's pretty sure that isn't supposed to be there. He apprehensively reaches towards it and pokes at a bundle of wires. They're really there, sitting in his chest cavity, okay. Great. 

Feeling a bit weirded out, Patrick attempts to close whatever he'd just opened, and succeeds, so his stomach looks like a normal stomach again. 

But no matter what it looks like, Patrick is still very aware that his internal organs seem to have been replaced with wires and a motor. 

There is, he concludes, only one explanation for this. 

Somehow, he is a _robot._

"Fuck." He says again, and that really just about sums it up. 

Suddenly, Patrick becomes aware that, hey, _he isn't breathing_. Well, he thinks, he seems to be currently lacking the lungs to do that, so he isn't too surprised. The next revelation that he doesn't have a heartbeat either also isn't too much because it logically makes sense. He doesn't exactly seem to have a heart.

"Huh." He says, and lets everything really set in before he freaks out. "Oh, fuck. Shit. This isn't good."

He gets out of a bed, finds a shirt off the floor, and slides it on, covering the vague fractures that give away the panel that honestly should not be on his chest. And yet.

In the process of doing this, Patrick also notices similar hairline fractures on his wrists. Thus, while trying and mostly failing to keep calm, he slips a hoodie on, too. 

Pete pokes his head into the room just as Patrick is putting on a fedora over what's probably a considerable bedhead. 

"Hey, 'Trick, you okay?" Pete asks, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

"Yeah, of course!" Patrick nods, laughing nervously and hoping it's not too obvious he's hiding something. It probably is. 

"Okay." Pete replies, not sounding convinced at all. "You want to come get some of the good cereal before Joe and I take it all?" 

"Oh, yeah!" Patrick agrees, while internally debating whether he can still eat or not. 

"Then hurry up." Pete says, grinning and leaving the room. 

Patrick would've said he "let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding", but without the ability to actually breathe, that's kind of impossible. But he sure feels like that's what he'd done. 

Patrick follows Pete to where everyone else is and gratefully accepts a bowl of cereal (Cinnamon Toast Crunch, one of his favorites, awesome). There's a moment where he wonders if eating something will, maybe like...fuck up his circuitry or something, which, yikes, mind trip. But he takes a bite anyway, and he doesn't think anything bad happens, so he counts that as a check in the "I can eat things" column. And he decides that still having the ability to taste it isn't so bad, either. That's two points in the "this is tolerable" column. Maybe it won't be so bad. 

Then Pete almost spills a glass of water over Patrick's lap, and Patrick instinctually jumps back, because it's common knowledge that water and electronics do not mix. When Patrick considers the fact that he's the electronics in this equation, he kind of wants to scream. Luckily, he manages to keep it down. 

"Hey, what was that about?" Pete asks, frowning. 

"I didn't want to be soaked, asshole." Patrick replies, glaring. Well, he isn't _lying_ , exactly...

"Yeah, whatever." Pete mutters, and adds, "Asshole."

"Real mature, you two." Andy says, rolling his eyes. 

"Patrick, are you gonna eat that? Because if not, I want it." Joe asks, propping his head up on his elbows as he leans forward onto the table. 

"Uh, no. Not hungry." Patrick says, pushing the bowl over to Joe. That's not exactly a lie, either. He actually isn't. He's about ninety-nine percent sure he doesn't exactly _need_ food. It's more of a comfort that he _can_ have it. 

He wants to bang his head against the wall and die right about now. 

Joe happily accepts the cereal, grinning as he does so. Pete sends Patrick a worried look. 

Patrick shrugs. "I'm going to go lay down. I'm...not feeling too good."

"Mmkay." Joe mutters through a mouthful of his newly-claimed Cinnamon Toast Crunch. 

"Alright, go ahead. Remember, show tonight. Hope you feel better." Andy says, not looking up from whatever novel he's got while he's eating (if he spills something the pages will be ruined, Patrick swears). 

"You sure you're fine?" Pete asks, the worry evident in his voice. 

"Of course." Patrick replies, giving him a small smile before hastily leaving the room. 

He's going to have to deal with this somehow. 

~*~

The show is...interesting. 

Patrick realizes pretty early on that he isn't sure how he's singing, or even talking, for that matter. He assumes he doesn't have any normal vocal chords. The sound coming out of his mouth just sounds... _fake_ to him. Manufactured, for lack of a better word. He can also hold notes ridiculously long, because he doesn't need to breathe, but he pretends to anyway, cutting possibly infinite notes short to keep up the facade that he's still fully, one-hundred-percent, bona fide human. 

He wishes he could convince himself of that as well. 

If anyone notices anything off with his performance, though, they don't mention it. In fact, if anything, everyone seems overjoyed by it. 

"Whoa, you did great!" Joe exclaims, patting him on the back before taking what's probably about a minute-long swig from a water bottle. 

"Yeah, that was fucking awesome, and you aren't even breaking a sweat!" Pete agrees, wrapping an arm loosely around Patrick's shoulders. 

"Uh. Thanks." Patrick mutters, attempting to smile at Pete. He's right; Patrick isn't sweating at all. 

_Robot perks_ , he thinks.

"Yeah, that really was pretty good." Andy agrees. At this, Patrick beams. A compliment from Andy means an awful lot. 

"Thanks, you guys, really, but I just when out there and...did it, y'know?" Patrick says, deliberately omitting the "hey, I'm a robot now!" part of the whole thing. 

"Well, you did it good." Pete says, arm still around Patrick's shoulder. 

"Did it _well_." Patrick corrects, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Pete, grammar."

"Fuck off." Pete replies heartily, still grinning down at Patrick. 

"OTP." Joe whispers to Andy. 

Patrick nearly punches him. 

~*~

It's been a week, and Patrick's still got nothing. He's still very much a robot, somehow. 

Though he has figured out a couple things. 

First of all, now he knows why. He realized late one night that whatever the steampunk stalker had stuck him with (say that one ten times fast) was probably the cause of this. He'd discovered that it appeared to be a little piece of silver metal less than a centimeter long that currently protruded just barely visibly from his back, right under his neck. He'd attempted to pull it out, but when one small tug had sent a shock through his whole body, he'd concluded that all his... _wiring_ must be connected to that, so pulling it out might not be the best idea he'd ever had. 

Secondly, he'd realized that he could remove his hand. That wasn't even that important, but he'd spent ten minutes laughing at his handless wrist (with a few wires and connectors showing, yikes) because damn, music videos. He then realized he was laughing about an accidental reference to _his own music video(s)_ and stopped laughing, and then Pete walked in and he managed to accidentally jam his hand back on _backwards_ , and, well, that all kind of spiraled on from there. 

Now, he'd managed to trip down a flight of stairs, which actually only caused a bit of dull pain. 

He wonders if any of his nerve endings are intact. Does he even still have nerve endings? He must have some if he did feel any pain at all, right?

This is too complicated. 

He gets up, mostly unfazed, and continues on his way to get backstage. He's pretty sure no one saw that, so he'll be fine. 

He's pretty sure, but that doesn't always equal right. 

After the show, Andy pulls him aside. 

"You fell down a staircase." He deadpans. 

"Um...yes, I did." Patrick nods slowly, trying to play the innocent angle until he has to do otherwise. 

"You fell down a staircase, _tumbled_ down it, and not only did you not break any bones, you have no bruises. So...what?" Andy elaborates, crossing his arms. 

Patrick can't exactly say "well, I don't exactly have any bones, guess my framework is just strong" or "I'm pretty sure bruises require blood, which as far as I know I have none of", so he just settles for, "Weird."

"Yeah. Weird." Andy steps a little closer. "And we're really getting some strangely long notes from you recently, aren't we? Don't think I didn't notice you never actually took any breaths."

"Um, well." Patrick laughs nervously, rubbing his arm. "That's a. Long story."

"Anything to do with Creepy Steampunk Stalker?" Andy asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Well, yes." Patrick mutters, looking down. 

Andy suddenly has a hand on Patrick's chest where any normal person's heart would be, and he gives Patrick a weird look. "You have no heartbeat."

"Well...no..." Patrick agrees, risking looking up to meet Andy's gaze, but not moving his head. 

"And I'm pretty sure you aren't breathing, either." Andy continues. 

"No, I am, in fact, not breathing." Patrick confirms, feeling ready to die. Why is this his life?

"Why do you keep wearing things with long sleeves in eighty degree weather?" Andy asks, gesturing to Patrick's jacket. 

Patrick nervously tugs at his sleeve, then sighs in defeat. "Because..." He sighs and, in one fluid motion, pulls off his hand again, revealing the conglomeration of wires and such that hide behind it. "This."

"Hm. That's interesting." Andy comments, eyeing Patrick's wrist in a strange, interested way. 

"Interesting?" Patrick sputters, wide-eyed. "That's all you've got?"

"How long?" Andy asks in lieu of actually answering Patrick's question. "Because I think we'd all know already if this wasn't a recent thing."

Patrick sighs. "Like a week? Like you said, Creepy Steampunk Stalker."

"Huh." Andy nods. "I guess that makes sense, with the no-injuries staircase and the not breathing or having a heartbeat or whatever. Huh."

"Yeah." Patrick mutters. "It's not as cool as it seems."

"Never said it seemed cool." Andy gives Patrick a small smile. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

"Thanks, Andy." Patrick says, reattaching his hand with a resounding _click._

"No problem." Andy nods. 

Patrick thinks he's pretty lucky when it comes to his friends. 

~*~

It's been almost another week, and Patrick's still no closer to figuring out how to solve this. He's starting to accept that he might just have to live with it. 

Joe finds out quite by accident. 

Patrick doesn't exactly sleep anymore. It's more like...resting. He almost calls it recharging, but he's not that far into accepting the situation yet. He doesn't dream; he just lays down, and then wakes up at a set time. No, but really. 7:30 on the dot, every morning. He doesn't know why his internal alarm is 7:30, or if he can change it (and if so, how to do so), but he works with it. He'd only normally sleep in a little later, so it's all good. 

Joe is the first one to try to wake him up before 7:30. 

When he blinks open his eyes at 7:30, Joe is giving him an odd stare. 

"What?" He asks, frowning. 

"You...wouldn't wake up." Joe says slowly, his odd stare turning into a look of turmoil and confusion. "And you weren't breathing and you had no heartbeat and I was sure you were dead, and. Wow. What the fuck, man."

"Oh." Patrick sits up in bed. "I can explain-"

"No, dude, I got Andy, because he's like...medically inclined, or something." Joe laughs at his own...what could barely he considered a joke. "He told me."

"Oh." Patrick mutters. "Surprise?" He does weak jazz hands to enunciate that, but it doesn't really help all that much. 

"It's cool. As far as we know, we're the only band with a robot!" Joe points out, grinning. 

That makes Patrick uncomfortable more than it cheers him up, but he doesn't let Joe know that. Instead, he just smiles and says, "Aha, yeah."

"Cool. Talk more later?" Joe asks.

"Uh. Sure." Patrick nods, and he's pretty sure Joe understands that that really translates to "never". Patrick would still rather not acknowledge the situation at hand. 

"Cool." Joe repeats, and that's the end of that. 

~*~

It's been three days since Joe had tried to wake him up early, and Patrick is enjoying some Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's been a good morning. He feels like nothing could go wrong, but of course now he practically knows something will. 

And, of course, something does. 

Pete gets up, water glass still in hand, and just a little bit drips over the rim and lands squarely on Patrick's wrist, falling through the little crack and reaching his wires, which, uh-oh. That's probably not good. 

Sparks quite literally fly and Patrick feels a little jolt before it calms down, leaving him feeling just a bit lightheaded. He blinks. Okay, that's something he'd like to avoid happening again. 

"What the actual fuck was that." Pete hisses out. 

Patrick's eyes gravitate to the ground. "Um. Well."

"He's a robot!" Joe announces through a spoonful of Lucky Charms, which no one really knew how he'd gotten. 

"Thanks a lot, Joe." Patrick mutters, glaring at Joe. 

"Wait, what?" Pete blinks. "But you're...that's...you've...not?"

Somehow all that rambling is coherent to Patrick, and he sighs. "Remember the steampunk girl?"

"Oh!" Pete nods. Then he frowns. "Huh. I guess that makes sense. Didn't she poke you with something?"

"Mhm." Patrick turns to gesture to the little bit of metal sticking out of his back like shrapnel. 

"Huh." Pete repeats, then continues, "Does it come out?"

Patrick sighs and shakes his head. "No, it doesn't. I tried."

"Hm." Pete nods slowly, grinning. "Oh, seriously, 'Trick, you're the coolest in the band now. Even Andy can't compete."

Andy nods in agreement. 

Patrick rolls his eyes. "Thanks."

But he really wishes it wasn't like this.

~*~

Pete sits down next to Patrick on the small-ish hotel bed and presses into his side. Patrick can't exactly blush without blood, but he can overheat, and he sure as hell is. 

Pete laughs. "You're doing the overheating computer thing."

"What?" Patrick asks, giving him a questioning look. 

"Y'know, when a computer gets too hot and starts whirring? You're totally doing that." Pete elaborates, grinning at Patrick. 

"No I'm not." Patrick mutters, but now that Pete mentions it, oh, he totally is. 

"Mm, yeah you are." Pete scoots closer into Patrick's side, and the whirring gets a bit louder. 

"I'm stuck, Pete." Patrick whines, even though it doesn't really pertain to anything they were saying before. "There's no way to fix this."

"You don't know that." Pete says, his voice betraying his failed attempt to appear optimistic. 

"Pretty sure I do. I'm going to a fucking _robot_ forever." Patrick mutters, twisting his hand into the stark white sheets. 

"I'm sure we can deal with that." Pete says, throwing an arm around Patrick's shoulder. 

"Maybe you can. I can't." Patrick sighs, burrowing into Pete's side in return. He ignores the continuously louder whirring noise that he totally _is_ making, wow. 

"Hm." Pete says. 

There's a few minutes where nothing happens; the only noise is that god damn whirring that Patrick just can't stop, damn it. 

Then, suddenly, Pete grabs his chin and kisses him. 

Patrick's eyes widen, but then he can't help but lean into it. What can he say? He's a creature of habit. 

Pete laughs and mutters into the kiss, "Huh, you even taste a bit like metal."

That suddenly seems like a very small problem, compared to what's happening right now. 

Patrick is the first to pull back, but only because he knows he would never need to breathe and Pete would probably kill himself trying to match that. 

"Wow." He says simply. 

It must convey enough, because Pete grins and nods. "Oh yeah. Really wow."

"I think. Maybe I can deal with this." Patrick announces. 

"Mmhm, told you." Pete grins, kissing Patrick's cheek quickly, and gripping both of Patrick's hands in his. "It's all gonna be good, okay?"

"Okay." Patrick agrees. 

The whirring noise still hasn't stopped, and Patrick doesn't think that he ever wants it to.

**Author's Note:**

> :) this is my life now 
> 
> if you want me to write more and make this a series I can. If you want to prompt me for it, I welcome that. 
> 
> Thanks for tolerating my weirdness and my peterick obsession.


End file.
